


Oblivion

by sick_boy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Barney trying to save him, Chilton's a little shit, Drug Addiction, Gen, Hospitals, Medication, Medicinal Drug Use, Mental Institutions, Nasogastric Tube, Needles, Restraints, Sedation, Spoon-Feeding, Tranquilizers, Tube Feeding, Will's all drugged up, and he loves it, potentially
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:34:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sick_boy/pseuds/sick_boy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pain of sitting on bruises helps him focus when Chilton’s breathing down his neck, when his days and nights are defined by meals and meds.  The only time he can trick himself into believing everything is okay is as soon as his meds hit his tongue, the sugary coating yet another jolt to the oozing pleasure center of his brain.  Will knows it’s only a matter of time before the corners of his cell turn soft and fuzz over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Will no longer experiences the sharp edges of falling asleep, like dropping off the edge of a cliff, with nothing to hold on to as the pit of anxiety scorching his stomach devours his entire being.

No, sleep for him is hardly sleep. Never rest. More unconsciousness. Blankness. Non-existence. It comes both as a pain and a pleasure; the two are starting to mix in here.

He comes to in positions, in places he doesn’t remember closing his eyes. Sometimes, he’s all limbs on a cot that is more like a brick, his arm pins and needles under him from where the guards left him. Other times he feels his head, heavy with the weight of the entire ocean, sagging forward in a chair he doesn’t remember sitting down in, restraints biting at his arms, all bones and veins and deathly pale. There is a thick string of saliva flowing freely into his lap. When he finally collects enough energy to lift his head, Chilton is flashing a toothy grin, like an alligator posing for a dentist’s ad.

Places and people come and go, and he doesn’t care. He can’t bring himself to. He thinks maybe it’s his body’s way of preserving himself, that if he ever gets out of here, he’ll be able to “wake up” and be himself again, but he doesn’t know for sure, and he can’t think about anything too long before his thoughts unglue and he succumbs to the listless aftereffects of heavy sedation.

Barney comes by his cell sometimes when the lights are dim and everyone else is passed out from evening meds or whispering in tongues no one else understands. They have learned to ignore harsh, breathy gasps, repetitive movements. That’s when Will has the awareness of his surroundings to realize what is happening beyond his allotted square feet.

“How are you doing, Will?” Barney will say. He doesn’t know how to phrase it without sounding like a shrink. Will will be sprawled out on the cot, or resting his head against the toilet seat or propping himself up against the wall, anything to keep the nightmares at bay. Sometimes they’re nightmares, and sometimes they’re night terrors. Will knows the difference because he remembers nightmares, and startles awake from them sweating through his uniform. He’s left to shiver through the night under the scratchy excuse for a blanket, the dampness stealing all the heat from his body and leaving his bones as frigid as the basement air until morning, when he’s given a new uniform after his shower. He doesn’t remember night terrors, but he wakes to a rawness in his throat. On his way to the shower, the guards will taunt him, inform him of how much he screamed, and how weak it made him.

And on rare occasion, he’ll blink awake to find his eyes already open, standing staring at the padded wall. He’s lucky Barney has been the only one to find him like that.

Will has accepted the fact that he is not control of when or where he is. He has not dealt with who in a while. Why is non-existent. His current existence is in what- what they will slide through the food tray, what pseudoscientific technique Chilton will try on him next.

All Will craves for is the exact moment he feels his consciousness leaving him. It’s like auto-erotic asphyxiation, he thinks in one of his cloudier moments. He’s dealt with enough serial killers’ minds to know that high, that head rush into a placid oblivion.

He barely remembers the needle anymore, with whatever stuff they’re giving him now. A slight pinch, a bit of pressure as it pushes through the biggest muscle in his body... Will forgets why he ever struggled in the first place. Dignity, he recalls distantly. Principles. It seems almost laughable now. How useless morals are in a place like this...

The pain of sitting on bruises helps him focus when Chilton’s breathing down his neck, when his days and nights are defined by meals and meds. The only time he can trick himself into believing everything is okay is as soon as his meds hit his tongue, the sugary coating yet another jolt to the oozing pleasure center of his brain. Will knows it’s only a matter of time before the corners of his cell turns soft and fuzz over.

Barney had tried to reason with him, vehemently whispering in the dimmed light. “You need to get off those meds, Chilton’s turning your brain to mush. You’re not the same person as when you came here.”

Will didn’t see a problem with that. He was so tired. So, so tired, and he wanted the drugs to snag his soul into the shadows, he wanted sweet darkness to claim him, but here was Barney, with his insistence and good intentions trying to take the only light in his life.

“Thas’ no’ truen’ you know it,” he said.

“Will, you can’t even talk without slurring your words. Chilton rotates our schedule, I can’t be on med duty all the time. You gotta promise me you’ll stop taking the pills. It’s for your own good.”

“Okay,” he sighed, eyes closed as he nuzzled his head into the padding of the wall.

“Thank you,” breathed Barney. “I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow, okay?”

“Uh-huh.” His head was drooping.

And Will tried, Will tried to forgo his meds. He cheeked them; the man didn’t even check his mouth. Then he flushed them down the toilet.

But morning crawled by, and minutes turned to hours. Anxiety set his legs restless and his nails bitten bloody. If he could wait until lunch, he could ask Barney for the pills. But then he’d have to admit to failing him. Emotions struck him like lightning illuminating the sky, and the next thing he knew, panic had seized his chest. 

He rattled the bars of his cell, encased by plastic. His eyes were wet.

“Help! Help!” He didn’t want to be a burden. He just needed his pills.

A guard’s footsteps stopped a few yards down.

“Help me, please,” he begged.

The guard seemed to be waiting for something.

Will turned on himself, banging his head into the toilet seat, the only hard object in the room. Screams muddled their way through gritted teeth.

It wasn’t long before the infantry invaded his room.

Pinch, pressure, oblivion.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time things swim into focus, he is staring up at a bright white light, one that he discovers, when he levels his head, is in the interrogation room.

Will is in the familiar haze of drugs, but this is a different one. Midazolam. He had come to know each drug and their subtleties. Thorazine makes his body the heaviest, haloperidol worsens his depression, olanzapine gives him vivid nightmares and makes him dry heave, lorazepam gives him a nice little sense of well-being, but he was building up a tolerance to it. This one makes him want to talk, and who is there waiting for him to come to but the omni-potent Dr. Chilton.

“Do you want to explain to me your little incident today?” Chilton’s words are carefully chosen to demean and dehumanize him, but he doesn’t take them to heart. Will is a shock absorber; nothing can touch him in his stupor. He is protected as much as he is broken.

The drug makes him teary-eyed and loose-tongued. “I didn’ mean to, I- I cheek’d my medsn’ I had... n’episode.” His eyes want to wander around the room, but he keeps them near Chilton. He needs to seem sincere. “I know I need’m now. I’m sorry, I won’ do id again.”

Not too long ago, he would have never said sorry to the pitiful excuse for a man, but few words held such power. Chilton would get his ego stroked, Will would get his meds, and the issue would be resolved.

Chilton’s smile is wider than it’s ever been, showing all his teeth.

“No, Mr. Graham. I’ll see to it that you won’t.” He puts on a concerned, yet still condescending facade. “Do you understand now, that I have you on certain medications so these... outbursts of yours can be contained? You are a proven danger to yourself and others; it’s why you’re institutionalized. Your behavior is unpredictable- you have a history of violence, which is distinctly different from your alter’s history of violence.” He gets a sudden glint in his eye. “Is that what triggered this latest episode? Were you switching between yourself, Will Graham, and Garrett Jacob Hobbs?”

If Will had the energy for defiance, he would have rolled his eyes and laughed in his face. Alter... he didn’t have... whatever disorder that was. Will knows, even in his indefinite stupor, what an imbecile Chilton is for thinking such a thing. Still, this conversation is an apology. He needs the meds, and he can’t have them switched. The initial side effects have already worn off, and Will would rather not go through them again.

“No, I don’t... rem-em-b’r anything abou’the... blackouts. I jus’ didn’ take my meds, bud I won’ do it agen. M’really sorry.”

Chilton looks dissatisfied. “Well, I appreciate the apology, Mr. Graham, but you will have to earn my trust. And the technicians will be double-checking your mouth every time medication is distributed. We cannot have this again.”

Will grunted in response, minutely nodding his head. Most of these drugs gave him the spins after it initially wore off. But he wouldn’t be conscious for long...

Chilton left, the straps loosened. Handcuffs bit into his wrists, arms pulled up. His head was too heavy to keep up, things got fuzzy...

///

Someone was shaking his shoulder, calling his name.

“Will, wake up!”

Through squinted eyes, he made out Barney hovering over him. The tepid, ambiguous smell of hospital food permeated the room.

He was lying on his side in the middle of the room. Groaning, he let his head return to the rubber floor and closed his eyes.

Barney called his name again.

“Wha’d’you want?”

“You said you would stop taking the pills, Will.”

Oh yeah.

“Mm’sorry,” he sniffed. “I tried t’stop but... I got bad.”

Barney studied him. “You don’t look good.”

“Mm...”

“No, stay awake. I have your food here, and I need to make sure you’re okay. Look at me.”

It took much effort to open his eyes, a constant tax on his low energy reserves.

“No, look me straight in the eyes, Will. I know you don’t like that sort of thing, but I gotta check you out for a minute.”

Barney sighed and forced Will’s eye open all the way before putting the penlight on him.

Will was too weak to do much more than squirm his head back and squint. “Oww, thad hurts.”

Again, the tech sighed. He found himself doing that often when thinking about Will’s state nowadays. “Your pupils are blown.”

He put his head back to the floor. “Wha’s tha’mean.”

“It means you’re high as a kite. Give me your finger.”

A chuckle died in Will’s throat. “R’you gonna pull it?”

Barney ignored him and pinched his finger. It stayed white for over two seconds, indicating dehydration and low blood pressure. His pulse was slow, but within range.

“Okay, we need to get some fluids in you, and some food,” the psych tech announced, sliding the tray over to where he was kneeling.

“M’not hungry,” Will murmured, his eyes shut again.

“I don’t care, you’re eating.” Barney scooped Will up and dragged him back to bed, propping him up against the post.

“Your limbs feel real heavy, right? So I’m gonna feed you, and there’s no need to be embarrassed about it, I do it all the time with other patients. Just try to eat for me, alright?”

He looked over at the tray. “We have some, uh... Some juice. Think it’s apple. Even has a straw, look at that. Alright, drink up,” he help the cup up to him.

“I kin ead at breakfast,” he said, verbally waving it off.

“This is lunch, Will... Do you know what day it is?”

“Uhh... Friday...”

Barney rolled his eyes. “No, I meant the... forget it.”

He took a breath. “Breakfast, lunch. It doesn’t matter. It is a mealtime, and mealtimes for eating.” Then he became serious again, still holding out the juice. “Drink it or I’m taking you to the infirmary for an IV. I’m not kidding.”

Will groaned at Barney’s stubbornness. He knew it was out of care of him, but he didn’t need to make such a fuss about a prisoner eating. Slowly, Will sucked the apple juice down, until it was all gone. Then came the solid food. Barney held up the spoon full of dry, mealy mashed potatoes or limp, salty chicken, and Will dutifully chewed.

It was wearing him out; his eyes were drooping again.

“No more,” he pleaded weakly. “M’done.”

Barney sighed. He barely ate half of it. “Alright, Will, but you’re not skipping dinner. I’ll do this every meal if I have to, even if it means keeping you awake. I won’t just stand by and watch you kill yourself.”

Will opened his eyes a fraction, even made contact with Barney’s. “M’not...”

Barney gave him a long, hard look.

“Yeah, sure,” Barney muttered, hauling Will into bed.


	3. Chapter 3

“That’s funny, I don’t seem to recall you ever being in charge of monitoring patients’ medications, Mr. Matthews, only that they take them.”

“Will sleeps for eighteen hours a day.”

“He doesn’t seem to mind,” Chilton gave Barney a bemused grin.

“I have to spoon-feed him his meals because he’s too tired to hold his head up.”

“There are many patients that require spoon-feeding-”

“Because they’re not aware of their surroundings, they’re psychotic-”

“And a man responsible for five murders, who cannibalized his last victim, is not psychotic? You should be glad he’s incapable of holding his own utensils- he might just use them on you.”

Barney looked as though he were about to object further.

“Mr. Matthews, might I remind you that your position and responsibilities at this hospital do not include contradicting those who are qualified to treat such severe mental illnesses as the patients you come in contact with. Whatever drug regimen I decide on is just that- my decision, and mine alone. I do not appreciate technicians questioning my competency. Is that understood?”

Barney knew he wouldn’t get anywhere with Chilton. His only comfort was the fact that Chilton wasn’t in the battlefield; he was merely commanding from the safety of his office. If Barney chose to forgo Chilton’s instructions, nothing would seem amiss.

“Understood, Dr. Chilton.”

///

Dinner wasn’t any better. Will downed his evening meds as though they were more of a meal than the meatloaf awaiting him.

“Done,” Will said, putting his head back against the cot he was propped up against. He had barely eaten, though Barney didn’t half blame him considering the offensive smell. Still, the tech knew it didn’t matter what gruel was served, only that Will was too tired, too drugged, too depressed to eat adequately.

“Will, that’s not enough,” Barney admonished. “You have to eat a little more.”

Will refused.

“Remember what I said at lunch? The IV’s for dehydration, but the tube down your nose is for food. Open your mouth or you’re getting both.”

Barney hated threatening him like this, but he didn’t know when Will ate last before lunch. Any time he had passed Will’s cell during meals, the prisoner had been passed out on the bed or floor, entirely unaware of the food tray. Barney could only assume it was collected before Will woke up. The tech also knew that the more food was in his stomach, the more alert he would be, the stronger he would be. Maybe he’d even be a little less depressed.

Tears threatened to leak out of Will’s eyes as he shook his head to the spoonful of food in front of him. “I don’ wan’it.”

“So how long are you gonna keep up this starvation strike?” Barney set down the spoon. He felt like all he did was lecture Will, but there was little else to talk about.

Will closed his eyes.

“Am I wrong?” He asked, wiping Will’s mouth with a napkin. The prisoner couldn’t bring himself to protest. “If you ain’t trying to kill yourself, tell me I got it wrong.”

Will sighed. “Ev’n if I was, you have no right t’talk me oud’uv it.”

Barney gave him a sympathetic look. The words were soft, almost to himself.

“Sometimes I think you forget you’re an innocent man.”

Will crumbled. He hadn’t heard someone call him that in all too long. His eyes swelled like bee stings and his lower lip quivered. “I didn’ kill those people! I didn’ kill anyone except Garrett... Jacob-”

Hopelessness crushed his lungs. His face scrunched as tears flowed down his cheeks; Will clutched at his chest. After a few hitched gasps, his sobs became retches. Barney dragged him to the toilet as his face paled. He let the excess saliva leak from his mouth, resting his head against the seat until the retching brought his dinner back up.

But once Will had opened up the dam, the rush was beyond his control. Barney had never heard such pathetic whines emit from anyone in his entire life.

The rest of the inmates’ jeers and screams were too loud to ignore. _Pussy! Shut the fuck up! I’ll come in there and ram my dick up your cunt, then you’ll have something to cry about! Graham’s a little bitch!_

Barney knew he had to contain the block, and that Will was inconsolable. He hastily pulled out the syringe he had prepared just in case.

“Will. Will, I’m going to sedate you, okay? I need you to take deep breaths for me, I’m just going to pull your uniform down. Lay on your side- that’s it. The nausea will pass once you’re breathing deeper. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

His breaths shook with barely suppressed sobs as Barney unzipped his uniform. Outside, the guards demanded the inmates’ cooperation. After disinfecting the area, Barney pushed the needle through, wincing at the three other purple and green bruises. Will relaxed and stopped whimpering within a minute. He turned him on his side in case the vomiting continued and flushed the toilet.

///

Hazy white. Burning in his throat. Something on his cheek. Laying down. Wrists and ankles bound.

Trying to breathe from his nose elicits a sharp sting- he can feel parts of his respiratory system he never was aware of before. And one of his nostrils is plugged. Groaning only caused more pain. It reminded him of the time he had mono in college.

“Will?”

Barney. He looked up from reading a magazine, then walked to the side of his bed.

“Breathe through your mouth; it’s easier.” He glanced at the bag beside him. “Looks like you’ve got a bit more to go.”

“Wha-” WIll croaks, swallowing with a wince so he wouldn’t cough.

“Don’t try to talk, your throat’s irritated.” Barney looks guilty. “I had to do it, Will. You threw up your food, it’s been real hard for you to eat for a while, and you’re so damn thin-”

Oh, Will pieced together the information. He was being tube-fed. There was currently a tube in his nose that slid all the way down to his stomach, where it was dripping into him calories and nutrients he couldn’t ingest himself.

“I can get you some ice chips, if you want. You have to suck on them, though, you can’t swallow anything that might interfere with the tube.”

Will doesn’t want to move, afraid of jostling the tube in his nose. Barney sensed this, then grabbed his hand. “Squeeze my hand once for yes, twice for no. Want the ice?”

Will squeezed once.

“‘Kay, I’ll be right back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This sucks and i'm sorry. I haven't properly written in weeks, most of this has been sitting in the document for a while.


End file.
